


Kings of the Forest and Mountain

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Erebor, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Mirkwood, Non-Consensual, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Thorin and Thranduil finally reconciled in Mirkwood, after a painful split, and Brangwyn, the dwarf woman who was once lined up to be Thorin’s bride, anxiously waiting for news back in Erebor, the two kings decide to return to the Mountain.  Good move?  Or will there be more trouble of their own making waiting for them there?  The latter, I imagine, LOL, as jealousy, the green-eyed monster, takes its toll.  But what else do you expect from such a passionate and turbulent relationship?  Complete story in 2 chapters but follows on from King of the Antlered Throne and King of the Marble Halls.  So far, there are 18 stories in this series and there might be more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion and Possession

.o00o.

Kings of the Forest and Mountain

Reunion

After a painful rift and an intense reconciliation, Thorin and Thranduil had spent only a few days at the elf king’s court in Mirkwood, but now the lovers decided to return to Erebor. Not only was it important to let Balin and Dain know that the agreement to make Dain’s son, Young Thorin, the next king of Erebor was now accepted by all parties, but it had always seemed, even to Thranduil, that his relationship with Thorin was looked upon in a more kindly fashion by the dwarves of the Mountain than it was by the elves of Mirkwood and they both felt more at ease in Thorin’s palace than here in the elven king’s home.

But, their assumptions were wrong. The elf lords were just more open when they made clear their dislike of Thranduil’s intimacy with a dwarf. Some found it truly abhorrent whilst others barely tolerated it and still others were cynically amused. Yet none thought that Thorin was worthy of their king, however powerful and rich the line of Durin was, and all had been well pleased when they had heard that their lord had cast Thorin off. At last! A whole year! What power had the dwarf held over their king that their intimacies had lasted so long? And they shook their heads in disbelief. And then, their horror when the reconciliation came was almost tangible.

Certainly, Thranduil and Thorin felt it: the sidelong glances, the whisperings in corners, the small slights offered Thorin which even the baleful looks of their king could not prevent. No, it was better that they both return to Erebor.

But, what the pair failed to understand was that Thranduil controlled his kingdom through fear. He had the respect of his people but that was not enough to stop the hardly-concealed disapproving looks directed at the two lovers. In Erebor, Thorin held sway because his people loved him. They wanted the very best for him because they thought he deserved it….but an elven lover somehow did not come into that equation. Their ideas about happiness for their king included a beautiful wife and a horde of children: it did not include the arrogant lord of Mirkwood because such a relationship ruled out an heir. Yet, because of their love, they did their best to keep their thoughts from him. These encompassed similar reactions of distaste to that of the elves when they thought of the two sharing a bed and a widely-held opinion that no elf lord was good enough for a dwarven king. And they had also been more than pleased when Thranduil had cast him off – although their relief had been mixed in with an anger that any elf should have the effrontery to do so. 

The dwarves had been excited and optimistic when Brangwyn Valasdottir had arrived at court and was often seen in close company with the king. They watched them carefully and noted every affectionate touch that passed between them, every smiling glance. She was beautiful to look upon, fair-spoken and intelligent. Yes, she would make a good queen and a good wife for Thorin; and they waited daily for an announcement of the betrothal.

But, it never came. Far from being a prospective queen who would provide Thorin with the required heir, she had offered advice which had disbarred her from any chance of wearing a crown – such altruism, they had to admit – and placed it firmly on the head of Dain’s son, Young Thorin, who would remove himself from his father’s court to become Thorin’s adopted heir. Thus the path was made clear for the relationship between Thorin and Thranduil to continue. Brangwyn’s solution had been a good one, admittedly, if there were no other choice, but the dwarves still glowered at the thought of the elf in their midst. 

But, the two kings knew nothing of this as they rode through the forest on the way back to Thorin’s home. It was a most beautiful spring day, one of those days when the sun shone so warmly that it felt like summer. They sang as they rode, the elf in his charming tenor and the dwarf in his sensuously deep baritone and their voices blended perfectly together, the sweet harmonies of the music reflecting the harmony of their love.

At last they stopped to eat in a leafy glade where a glittering foss tumbled down into a small pool. And after they had eaten, Thorin stripped off his clothes and ran down to the pool to bathe. He teased the elven king, laughing and splashing water at him, but Thranduil just smiled and preferred to watch his lover at play and admire the strong, wet body glistening in the sunlight.

At last, Thorin strode out of the pool and flung himself down on the grass to dry in the warmth of the sun. The leaves cast a dappled shade on his skin and soon he fell asleep. Tired after the exigencies of the past few days, thought Thranduil to himself. And he lay down next to him.

He chose this time to study his lover as he lay sprawled on his back and to touch him gently. Thorin had a beauty so different from his own. And he let his fingers drift softly over the muscles of his arm, so huge compared with the lithe limbs of the elves and yet so arousing that it made him shiver. The dwarf could crush him if that was what he wished and yet his embrace was always so tender, even though Thranduil was constantly aware of that latent power whenever Thorin took him in his embrace. The heavy musculature continued across his chest and down his flat belly. He knew that some elves felt revulsion at such physicality and yet he had been attracted to Thorin’s strength from the very first moment that he had laid eyes on him more than half a century ago. Ahh, he sighed. All those wasted years when they could have been together but were kept apart by pride and a foolish enmity. But, now, he would savour every moment.

He lowered his head so that his lips brushed the light dusting of dark hair which thickened into a V and pointed down towards his lover’s genitals. With a contented hum, he cupped his hand between the dwarf’s thighs and laying his head against his heart, fell into an elven semblance of sleep until Thorin eventually awoke.

“Have I been asleep long?” he murmured drowsily, turning to kiss the elf.

“Too long, perhaps,” Thranduil replied. “We must set out if we wish to reach Erebor before dark.”

“A pity,” smiled Thorin. “You should have roused me. This glade was made for love.” And, reluctantly, he stood up and got dressed. “But, it will still be here when we return,” he continued as he pulled on his breeches, “and we have all the time in the world.”

Not so, thought Thranduil sadly to himself. We have so little time.

.o00o.

Possession

Thranduil was right. They arrived at Erebor just before dark as the servants came out into the courtyard to light the torches and just as Brangwyn, who had been waiting faithfully for their return since Thorin’s departure, ran down the steps to greet them. Thorin dismounted and she flung her arms around his neck. “I see you’ve brought him back,” she whispered in his ear. “He’s absolutely beautiful. Take care I don’t steal him from you.”

Thorin grinned and pulled her into a great bear hug, planting a smacking kiss on her lips. “I’d like to say thank you,” he said quietly. “Now come and meet him.”

Thranduil sat stiffly on his horse, watching the two of them together. Thorin had leapt from the saddle and had run to embrace a good-looking dwarf woman. They had hugged and kissed and whispered intimately to each other; and the elven king suddenly realised that he had never seen anyone touch Thorin affectionately before. And he didn’t like it. Thorin was his – to touch, to caress, to kiss – and he wasn’t prepared to share him.

Thorin walked up to him, hand in hand with the dwarf woman, his eyes shining, and grinned. “I’d like you to meet Brangwyn, my nearly-betrothed. We owe so much to her.”

Thranduil looked down at her coolly. Thorin’s nearly-betrothed. When Thorin had told him about Brangwyn and her plan to release them both from the obligations of kingship, he somehow hadn’t imagined her to be young and attractive: for some reason, he had thought of her as an older, wise woman, the sort that everyone in the village goes to for advice. While she was still in his imagination, she wasn’t a threat; but, standing here in real life, clinging to Thorin’s hand, he decided that she was. And he gave her a distant nod of his head.

“Come, Thranduil,” Thorin exclaimed, “get down and greet her with a kiss. She deserves it.” But, when Thranduil only lifted an eyebrow, the dwarf laughed, and, turning to Brangwyn, said conspiratorially, “He’s so formal, you know, so I shall have to kiss you for him.” And he gleefully embraced her again.

Thranduil had the urge to slap them apart from each other. But, unable to do this, he did the next best thing. Dismounting from his horse, he took her hand from that of Thorin and kissed it elegantly. She let go of Thorin completely and blushed, dipping in a small but graceful curtsey. That’s done the trick, Thranduil thought to himself.

“The tables are set,” she said politely. “Are you both coming down to dine? I think, Thorin, that Balin wants you to make an announcement about your heir, Dain’s son.”

“Of course we’re coming to dine,” said Thorin, “providing that you’ll sit between us and keep us entertained,” he added with a grin.

Well, there’s no ‘of course’ about it, glowered Thranduil to himself. Over the past year, whenever he stayed in Erebor, they had kept mostly to Thorin’s apartments, even eating there. And he had been looking forward to a quiet and intimate evening with the dwarf in his rooms. Now, this woman expected them to go down to the great hall where he would be forced to share his lover with all and sundry. And these formal dinners went on for hours.

“Come on, then,” laughed Brangwyn and she linked arms with both of them and led them up the steps, much to the discomfort of the elven king.

.o00o.

Balin hurried to meet them. His guilt made him glad that the two kings had found each other once more. He had hoped that Thorin would see the common sense behind his plans for him to marry Brangwyn, but since both his king and the proposed bride had conspired against him, he was resigned now to the idea that the son of Dain would be Thorin’s heir. He congratulated them on their reconciliation: “And now you must tell all Erebor about Thorin, son of Dain,” he said.

And so, Thorin and Thranduil dressed for dinner and then came down to the great table where Thorin sat at the head to the applause of all the dwarves of Erebor, whilst Thranduil and Brangwyn sat on either hand. 

Before the meal started, Thorin stood to announce that he was adopting Dain’s son, also called Thorin, and that the young dwarf would be coming to stay permanently in Erebor in the near future to learn its ways and meet his future people. “And thus, he will not be a stranger to you when he ascends the throne, but will be a true son of Erebor,” Thorin concluded on a rousing note and the table felt moved to cheer.

Then he sat down with Thranduil and Brangwyn to eat. “I think you’ve persuaded them,” said the dwarf woman, smiling and bending close.

Too close, thought Thranduil.

And as the evening passed, she entertained the two kings with pleasant talk and amusing stories and Thranduil noticed how much Thorin laughed and how he treated Brangwyn like a dear friend: so dear, in fact, that he seemed to spend more time in conversation with her than with him.

At one point, she moved a little further down the table so that she could talk for a while with Balin and some of the other dwarves. And Thorin turned to Thranduil and displayed a certain measure of irritation when he asked why the elven king was being so curt with Brangwyn. “For, without her, we would not be sitting together here at the same table but would still be alienated, one from the other, in our own kingdoms.”

And so, when she returned, the elf went out of his way to be charming and polite and interested in everything she said. And Thorin looked pleased with him that he had made the effort. But Thranduil begrudged every touch of the hand and every smile and every little kiss on the fingertips that passed between them. 

.o00o.

At last the two kings mounted the great staircase to Thorin’s apartments and the elf lord sighed with relief. All he wanted was to be alone with the dwarf and to take him in his arms. Thorin disappeared off into the bedroom and the elf locked the outer door behind them – there were to be no interruptions - and then he flung off his clothes and strode into the adjoining room. Thorin was already in bed and Thranduil slid in beside him.

The elf was cold and he pulled Thorin’s warm body against his own, running a hand down his back, and then over a rounded buttock, forcing him against his arousal. His mouth descended upon that of the dwarf and Thorin responded with a tender and gentle kiss. Gentle?! He didn’t want gentle: he wanted passion, he wanted to be wanted, he wanted Thorin to throw him on his back in such a way that he would feel all that suppressed strength and violence that he knew was there, scarcely under control; and he wanted heat and lust and need and possession; and he wanted to be taken such that he knew that he was the one and that the dwarven king could never live without him. Instead, he was being offered gentleness. And Thorin laid his head upon the elf’s breast and murmured, “We should go to sleep if we want to get up early for that hunt tomorrow morning.”

That wretched hunt! More of Brangwyn’s meddling! She may not have married Thorin but she was acting almost as if she were queen: calling them down to dinner, telling the dwarf what he must and mustn’t do, arranging a hunt for the whole court to go on! And as he heard his lover quietly breathing against his heart, Thranduil stared angrily at the ceiling, taut as a bowstring with unsatisfied desire, and wondered what his lover’s feelings were for his ‘nearly-betrothed’ and if they had indulged in any sexual play before the idea of a betrothal was rejected.

The next morning, just before the sun came up, the elf woke Thorin with his caresses and tried to lure him into such pleasures as he usually delighted in; but, the moment that he awoke, the dwarf leaped from the bed. “Come on,” he laughed. “Let’s get ready! It’s been such a long time since I rode out with the hounds.”

But Thranduil rolled over and pulled the coverlet over his head and said sulkily: “I have no desire to go hunting. Go without me.” And if he thought that this would bring Thorin running to his side with protestations that neither did he want to go hunting without the one he loved best at his side, then he was mistaken.

“Oh well,” shrugged Thorin. “It’s your choice. But I’m sure you’ll miss a good day.” And with this he was gone. He had chosen the dwarf woman over the elven king and Thranduil was distraught and furious and choked with jealous thoughts.

.o00o.

As he descended to the courtyard, Thorin realised that he was deliriously happy: he had the elven king, the one he loved most in the world, in his bed and at his side and, since Brangwyn had also come into his life, things had got even better. She was such a wise friend and seemed to understand his needs. When Thranduil had nursed him back to health after the Battle of the Five Armies and they had both revealed their love, such had been the strength of that love that they had shut themselves away from the world, obsessed with each other to the exclusion of all else. 

Now Brangwyn was gradually drawing him back out amongst his people, as was only right, and, in the end, he would pull Thranduil along with him. And he smiled gently at the stubborn behaviour of the elf who still lay abed and had refused to come hunting. 

Brangwyn had, in a surprisingly short period of time, become his closest – his only – female friend and she had filled a need at a critical moment in his life. She had made him examine his relationship with Thranduil and he could now see that it was an unhealthy one; and, if he wanted it to survive – which he desperately did – then they must learn to experience the world together, a world outside the bedroom.

The dwarf woman and many of his old Company, along with other courtiers, were already waiting for him in the courtyard, holding their impatient horses. “Slugabed!” she laughed.

“No,” he grinned, “you must reserve that title for Thranduil who refuses to get up and come hunting with us.” And whilst his courtiers laughed, Brangwyn gave a little frown.

The hunt was a splendid one. Thorin and the dwarf woman rode together at a reckless, breakneck speed, and he admired her skill as she threw her horse over fences and hedges. And, late in the morning, after becoming separated from the group, they cornered a massive and dangerous wild boar; and it was Brangwyn’s spear that brought it down.

Then they sat under the trees to eat and Thorin congratulated her on her courage and her abilities. “I wish that Thranduil could have seen you,” he said. “But, he had a fit of the sulks this morning.”

Brangwyn looked concerned. “I’m a little worried at his reaction to me,” she said regretfully. “I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealous?!” exclaimed Thorin in surprise.

“Yes, because he wants you all to himself but now he has to share you with me, not to mention the rest of the court.” She sighed. “I think it’s time for me to go home.”

“No,” said the dwarven king firmly. “If you are right, then he must learn to rise above such stupid feelings. You have taught me that a king must share himself with his people and his friends and I need you at court to help and guide me.” He threw an arm wide, gesturing at the trees and the blue sky and the dead boar. “This is what I would have missed – the joy of being out in the world. And Thranduil was wrong to refuse the opportunity.”

“Tread carefully,” said Brangwyn. “I’m sure he’s back in your apartments seething with anger and hurt. Be kind to him when you get home.”

“Why, of course,” said Thorin. But, good intentions don’t always work out the way that people plan them. 

 

.o00o.


	2. Alienation and Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's jealousy gets the better of him. Is this the end of his relationship with Thorin? Second and last chapter.

Kings of the Forest and Mountain

 

Chapter 2

 

Alienation

 

Thranduil had spent his day pacing Thorin’s apartments and regularly going out on the balcony that overlooked the courtyard, impatiently awaiting the return of the huntsmen.  At last, he heard the clatter of hooves and was just in time to catch a glimpse of the dwarven king disappearing into the palace.  He could see the body of a huge wild boar strapped to a horse and he called down to Dwalin who had still not dismounted.  “And did Thorin kill that?” he asked.

 

Dwalin laughed.  “Well, he _says_ that Brangwyn killed it but since the two became separated from our group, who knows?  Perhaps he is just being kind.”

 

Thranduil gripped the parapet and closed his eyes as a whole stream of jealous images exploded in his brain, mainly involving Brangwyn and Thorin rutting on the forest floor together after successfully dispatching the boar.  He turned back sharply into the room, just in time to greet the dwarf who flung open the door and came towards him laughing.  “You should have come with us,” he exclaimed.  “We’ve had such a good time!”

 

He was filthy and smelled of sweat, horses and blood but Thranduil could have taken him there.  The elf lord reached out to kiss him but he grimaced and backed away.  “No, I’m disgusting.  Just let me wash this off first,” and he went to fill the marble pool that served as a bath.

 

He flung his dirty clothes into a corner and stepped into the water.  Thrandul also disrobed and climbed in with him, sitting astride his lap and reaching for a sponge.

 

“Ahh, that feels good,” sighed the dwarf as he closed his eyes whilst the elf squeezed water over his face and chest.  And then Thorin was foolishly tempted to probe into his lover’s supposed jealousy.  “Brangwyn was quite magnificent today,” he murmured.  And the sponge stopped moving.  “She killed a boar, you know.  I’ve persuaded her to stay on here in Erebor because I would really miss her if she returned to her village.”

 

“More than you would miss me once I return to Mirkwood?” snapped the elven king.

 

Thorin opened his eyes and cupped Thranduil’s face in his powerful hand.  “Of course not,” he said.

 

But Thranduil already had an image in his mind of Thorin rolling on the bed with Brangwyn during his absence and was not appeased.  He pushed himself up out of the pool, grabbed a towel and marched into the bedroom, drying himself as he went.  Thorin leaped up out of the water and hurried after him.  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Brangwyn!” he cried.

 

“And why would I be jealous of an ugly, squat dwarven woman?” the elf sneered.  “If that is your taste, then you are welcome to each other.”  And he turned away from Thorin to pick up his clothes.

 

Thorin seized him by the shoulder and spun him around.  “How dare you talk like that about someone who sacrificed a chance to be queen so that we could be together again?” he snarled.

 

“And what was her reward for that sacrifice?  What did you promise her?  Did you offer to share your bed with both of us and give her a measure of power in your court?  She behaves like a queen – she might as well be a queen.  Is that how she has gained your love which she would not otherwise have had if a marriage had been forced upon you?”

 

Thorin had never seen the icy king of Mirkwood so enraged and he felt a fury building in his own breast too as he thought of the lovely Brangwyn and all her selfless efforts to reunite him and the elf lord.  He grabbed Thranduil by the hair and, pulling his face close, growled: “Be careful what you say, elf!”  But his lover was taller and had an agility and a wiry strength that was not at first apparent.  He twisted unexpectedly like an eel and, throwing his whole weight upon him, knocked him face down upon the bed.

 

The dwarf was taken unawares and unexpectedly found his wrists held firmly above his head in an iron grip.  Thranduil was panting heavily and suddenly he had forced himself into Thorin’s unprepared body.  It was all over very quickly and then, with an unmoving face, he flung on his clothes and marched from the room, leaving a shocked and disbelieving Thorin on the bed.

 

He lay there for a long time and then he arose and got back into the tepid bath to cleanse himself.  And, when he had put on his clothes, he went in search of the elf lord.  He wasn’t quite sure what he would do when he found him – perhaps he would kill him or beat him to a pulp or – and here was the strange thing – perhaps he would just hold him.

 

.o00o.

 

Conclusion

 

He couldn’t find Thranduil anywhere within the palace but, finally, when he descended to the courtyard, the stable boy told him that the elven king had ridden off an hour since.  The boy saddled Thorin’s horse whilst he returned to his room to pack for the journey; and then he set off towards the forest in the direction of Mirkwood.  Why was he following him, he wondered?  To punish him?  He didn’t know.  Surely it would be better to stay in Erebor and never see him again?  Perhaps.  But he would find him first.

 

It was late afternoon and the sun was nearly down.  The spring day had been a warm one again but Thorin knew that the nights were still cold and he was wearing a fur-lined coat.  As he entered the fringes of the forest, the sun set and the stars and a full moon came out.  Thorin wondered if he would overtake the elf before he reached his palace in Mirkwood and urged his horse to a faster pace.  Once shut within the gates of home, Thranduil would never let him in.

 

After an hour, his path led him close to the glade where they had dallied by the pool on their previous journey and, suddenly, Thorin had a feeling that the elven king may have stopped here for a rest.  He reined in his horse, dismounted and quietly led it through the trees.  The glade looked beautiful in the moonlight, the foss glittering a frosty silver as it splashed into the pool.  And then Thorin came to a halt as he caught sight of the elven king and he tied his horse to a nearby tree and stepped forward.

 

His lover was standing naked, up to his waist in the water.  “Thranduil,” said Thorin quietly, not wishing to elicit any extreme response from him.  He saw the muscles in the elf’s shoulders twitch, but that was all.  He neither turned nor answered.  Thorin moved closer and positioned himself where he could see Thranduil’s face.  He stood in the pool with his eyes closed, his skin looking very pale and translucent.

 

“Thranduil!” said Thorin more sharply, moving closer still, but, again, he neither spoke nor moved.  He looked like a marble statue and, suddenly, the dwarf wondered how long he had been standing thus.  He flung off his fur-lined coat and, kicking off his boots, strode into the pool, sliding an arm about the elf’s waist and lifting him in his arms.  The water was freezing and the king was icy cold.  Nor did he stir in Thorin’s arms as he anxiously carried him to the grassy bank.

 

The dwarf laid him gently down and then fetched a blanket roll from his horse.  He stretched it out on the grass, placed Thranduil upon it and then covered him with his coat.  It bothered him that the elf was not even shivering and he stripped off his own wet clothes and, crawling under the furs, pressed the king to him in an effort to share his body heat.

 

Cold, so very cold.  And Thorin thought that he might just as well be clasping a lump of stone.  He chafed his back and legs and arms urgently and, at last, Thranduil gave a little moan and began, very much to the dwarf’s relief, to shiver.  He continued to clasp him to his own body, although it was as if his own heat was slowly being sucked from him.  And, after some time, the shivering stopped and he could feel Thranduil begin to get warm.

 

At last, the elven king’s eyes fluttered open.  “Thorin,” he muttered.

 

“By Mahal!  What were you doing standing in that pool?” snapped the dwarf.

 

“Punishing myself,” whispered the king.  And he feebly tried to push Thorin away from him.  “Don’t touch me,” he said brokenly.  “I don’t deserve your body next to mine.  Leave me.”

 

Thorin let out a frustrated expletive.  “My clothes are wet, so I need you as much as you need me,” he growled.  And there was silence once more.  Then Thorin, who was feeling angry and confused, finally asked sharply: “And why make this glade in particular a place of punishment?”

 

“Because,” said Thranduil, “this was the last place where we were happy together.” 

 

Thorin let out another irritated exclamation.  “And how does torturing yourself here help me in any way?”

 

“I suppose it doesn’t,” was the response, “but I felt deserving of punishment and so I meted it out to myself.”

 

Thorin felt exasperated.  “And, afterwards, you would have felt better and you could have then walked happily away from the situation and forgiven yourself for what you have done?”

 

“I shall never forgive myself,” he replied quietly.  “But tell me how I can help you and I will do it.”

 

“I don’t know that you can help me,” said the dwarf after a pause.  “The deed is done and cannot be undone.”

 

“Perhaps we could talk,” suggested Thranduil looking up hopefully.

 

“Yes,” said Thorin in harsh tones.  “Tell me what led you to do – that – to me.”

 

“My possessiveness,” sighed the elven king.  “My jealousy.”

 

“But, if it’s Brangwyn you’re talking about, what on earth is there to be jealous of?”  Thorin felt exasperated.  “She gave up a chance of the crown to help me – and YOU.  She tried to get us back out in the world where we belonged because she knew it would ultimately save our relationship.  She was always kind and friendly to you even when you were rude to her.  She was the one who wanted to go home because she was afraid of your jealousy.  She is my friend and could be your friend too, if only you would let her.  By Mahal, your stupidity knows no bounds!”

 

“I couldn’t help it,” said Thranduil.  “You always seemed to be touching and kissing and you were mine and I couldn’t bear it.  I imagined all sorts of things going on between you when you were alone together.  Surely there was some intimacy when you thought you would be betrothed?  I had abandoned you.  Why wouldn’t you turn to her?”

 

“No, no intimacy,” hissed Thorin.  “Don’t you understand?  She is my friend.”

 

“And then, today, the two of you disappeared from the main group when you went off hunting.  My imagination ran away with me there too.  And, ever since we left Mirkwood, whenever I tried to make love to you, you turned away from me.”

 

“Your imagination has made you a fool,” muttered Thorin angrily in the elf’s ear.  “And what you did cannot be justified, however you come at it.”

 

“I know,” he replied.  “I am not justifying myself – but you asked me to explain.”  He pushed Thorin away and staggered to his feet, searching for the pile of clothing he had left neatly folded by the pool.  He pulled on his breeches.  “I can apologise a million times but I know you will never forgive me.  I have loved you for more than 60 years and I shall always love you.  But that is irrelevant.  I am returning to Mirkwood and perhaps it would be best if you returned to Brangwyn.  She understands you and cares for you.  Perhaps in the end, you can learn to love each other.”  And he buttoned up his shirt.

 

Thorin stood slowly as Thranduil pulled on his boots.  The elf lord looked away from him.  The dwarven king was so beautiful as he stood there and the thought of losing him – and being wholly responsible for that loss – was a very cruel burden to bear.  He got up and headed for his horse, tethered on the far side of the clearing.  But Thorin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“If I must leave you,” said Thranduil, staring at the grass beneath his feet but trembling at the dwarf’s touch, “let me do it quickly.  I would not stretch out the pain – unless you wish to punish me further.”

 

“When last we were in this place,” said Thorin quietly, his warm breath caressing the elf’s ear, “I said that this glade was made for love.”  And Thranduil stilled.  “So now I want you to show me what love is.”

 

“I cannot,” replied Thranduil, “because you must realise that I do not know.”  And he hung his head in shame.

 

“Then let me teach you,” whispered Thorin and he pushed aside the golden hair and kissed him tenderly on his white throat.

 

Thranduil sighed and leant back against him and Thorin reached to unbutton his shirt then placed one hand against the elven king’s heart.  “Does it beat for me as mine beats for you?” he asked.

 

“You know it does,” was the reply.

 

“Then turn and kiss me.”

 

And the elf, still with his eyes cast down in shame turned in Thorin’s warm embrace and kissed him with all the love that he felt in his heart.

 

“I don’t need to show you what love is,” murmured Thorin against his soft and yielding lips, “because you already know and you have given me your love so many times before.  And he slipped the shirt from off his shoulders and led him to where his fur lay upon the ground and they knelt and kissed again.

 

Then after Thorin had pulled him down upon the furs, he unlaced him and stroked his length.  “Look at me,” he said.  And Thranduil raised his face at last and looked deep into the dwarf’s blue eyes.  “Love is not just about this,” continued Thorin.  “Sometimes it is about lying wrapped in your lover’s arms all night and listening to him breathe.”

 

“Then wrap me in your arms,” murmured Thranduil, “and let me listen.”

 

They lay like this all night but, as the dawn broke, Thorin showed him how he needed him; and, when they finally broke apart, gasping and panting, Thranduil buried his face in the dwarf’s neck and asked if he were forgiven.

 

“Where there is love,” said Thorin, “then there is nothing to forgive.”

 

And, as the sun rose higher in the sky, they mounted their horses and rode back together to Erebor.

 

.o00o.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that. The next story is called The Kings and the Elf Lord and deals with the lusts and machinations of Ethril, the elf lord from Mirkwood, whom we met in the second story of this series: he was the one who pretended to be Thranduil's lover so that Thorin would believe that it was all over between him and the elven king. But was it all pretence on Ethril's side?


End file.
